


the real thing

by erebones



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Coming Out, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 01:57:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8351815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erebones/pseuds/erebones
Summary: Their last night living in a frat house, Carver and Felix are going through old college photos when they start to reminisce about all the stupid things they did freshman year. Like practicing kissing... with each other. That was so dumb, right? ...right??





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by em @professionallilbrocarverhawke

“Oh my _god_ , don’t remind me.”

“But it was hilarious! I know Josie chewed us out afterward, but wasn’t it worth it to see the look on Leli’s face?”

“I blame Sera for everything that happened that day.” Felix passes the photo back—Josie’s lacy white lingerie flapping from the campus flagpole like a banner—and waits for the next to be unearthed. 

It’s gotten very late. Or possibly early. One by one the others begged off, stumbling back home or tripping upstairs to sleep off their last wild night as college students, unwilling to face the grim responsibility of their graduation ceremony in the morning. Only Carver and Felix are still up, sprawled on the couch while Carver goes through a box he’d found under his bed of photos from the first year. Felix is having a hard time believing it’s over. It feels like just yesterday he was a little fresher, trotting along behind Carver as they pranked and joked their way into the Kappa Sig fraternity and forged friendships that (he hoped) would last a lifetime. 

At least he knows he’s never letting Carver go. After bulldozing his way through school on a stellar football scholarship, Carver has surprised everyone by turning down a few drafting offers to go to art school in Minrathous. Felix was one of the few who knew about his creative streak, having spent the last two summers visiting him in Kirkwall, where Carver had a little woodshop of his own in the attic of his mother’s house. The school year was for studies and football, but the summers were for art-making, and the Minrathous School of Architecture and Design has welcomed him with open arms. 

And Felix… well. He’s been away from home for long enough. His father misses him, and to be honest, Felix misses his home country. Misses the food and the beautiful language, the busy, eclectic streets of Minrathous, the magnificent promenades and deep, dusty libraries fairly echoing with ancient knowledge. Attending university in Ferelden was part rebellion, part whimsy, but he’s ready to go home now. The fact that Carver is coming too just cements the decision. 

_Roommates for life_ , he thinks wryly, shoving his bare toes under Carver’s thigh. It’s still cold in the Frostbacks even though it’s well into late spring, and someone has left the window open to admit the alpine air. Carver doesn’t even react, too used to the easy physicality that exists between them after four years of living in close quarters. Felix sighs. Maybe when they’ve settled into their apartment in Minrathous he’ll have the guts to actually tell him how he feels. _Not likely. Coward._

Carver bursts out laughing suddenly, startling him from his gloomy thoughts. He passes over the polaroid in his hand. “Oh my god, look at this. I hardly remember anything from that night, do you?”

He takes the photo and bites back a smile. It’s the two of them, dressed in their best: a too-small suit from the thrift store for Carver, and a sleek silk tunic with an incongruous bowtie for Felix. Carver’s got an arm slung over Felix’s shoulder, and they’re both holding red solo cups and grinning like a pair of fools. Drunk off their arses and probably high, Felix can’t remember the particulars. 

“Spring dance,” he murmurs, tapping the edge of the polaroid against his mouth. He feels immeasurably old all of a sudden. “We were such idiots.”

“Hey, Dorian was the one who brought the goods. And we lived through it, didn’t we?” He grins at Felix, stupidly gorgeous in his SkyU tank even though it’s bloody _freezing_ in here, his pale, musclebound arms sprinkled with freckles and his dark hair all shoved to one side by his impatient hands. It’s getting long, curly and shaggy at his nape and over his ears, and his jaw is all scruff because the last time he shaved was probably Tuesday. Felix snorts and passes the photo back, wrapping his fingers up in the ends of his sweater. 

“I’m sure we weren’t half as stupid as some of our peers. We’re not very good at being bad boys, are we?”

“Sadly, no. Oh well. ’S probably why we were able to survive college without any trips to the emergency room.” He examines the photo again, shaking his head. “I mean c’mon, we started our fraternity career as virgins. We practiced kissing _with each other_. Maker, we were young.”

Felix’s blood runs cold at his words. He’d hoped Carver had forgotten about that. They _were_ young—and clueless, and far too gullible, worried that their new frat brothers would somehow divine that they were a pair of inexperienced virgins without so much as a little necking under their belts. It had been Carver’s idea, hedged around for about five minutes before Felix realized what he was trying to say. To this day he isn’t sure how eager he’d sounded when he said _yeah, sure, I’m game for that_ , and promptly melted at the shy smile on Carver’s face. 

It had been a few weeks of bliss, making out in their dorm room between classes and after Carver’s football practice—this was before Felix joined the fencing team sophomore year—always keeping their hands above the waist and their flimsy heterosexuality in plain sight. Carver called him _bro_ and _mate_ in public, and Felix quietly went along with it until Carver started dating Peaches right before they parted ways for the summer. And that was that. A short-lived… something. Not a relationship by any means. Not even a fling. 

“Stupidly young,” Felix murmurs in agreement, realizing too late that he’d been too slow to fill the gaping silence. The placement of his feet under Carver’s thigh suddenly seems loaded with meaning, even though it had been an innocent, friendly gesture to put them there in the first place. He gnaws on his lower lip and looks down the couch at Carver, whose easy smile has begun to falter. 

“That’s what college is for, I guess,” he says, falsely light-hearted as he stirs his fingertips in the box of photographs. He isn’t meeting Felix’s eyes. “Experimenting and all that rot.”

“Yeah.” He wonders if he should move his feet. He doesn’t want to. He swallows the lump in his throat and stares at the ceiling as he huffs a weak laugh. “Hard to believe I ever thought I was straight.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, soft and sort of wry, “I know, right?”

The world sort of tilts for a minute, and Felix stares at him as he tries to find his equilibrium. “You too?”

“Er. Yeah, I guess.” He’s got one arm stretched along the back of the couch; with the other, he rubs the back of his neck and tugs nervously at his hair. “I mean, I like girls all right, but guys are just… y’know. Nice.” He blushes. “Really nice, sometimes.”

Felix snickers and curls his toes into the lumpy couch cushion, fingers laced so tightly together on his chest that his knuckles turn white. “Yeah. I know.”

“It’s not—I mean, it’s just weird, being on the team and everything. They’re all great guys, I know they wouldn’t… well, they _would_ give me shit for it, probably, if I ever… said anything. But I was okay seeing girls, so why did it matter?”

“It only matters if it matters to _you_ ,” Felix says quietly. “You’re not obligated to tell anyone.”

“Right.” He looks a little calmer now, though his hand is still tangled in his hair. “What about you? I mean, you don’t have to tell me, obviously—”

“No, it’s fine. I’m still not sure, honestly? It’s different where I come from. People can be… weird about it. Especially the older generation. But here… well, I always felt like there was only room for one gay Tevinter on campus. And Dorian already had that privilege, so.” He gives a wry half-smile and shrugs, the motion almost lost to the depths of the couch where he’s currently nestled. “It’s all right. I’m not really a _labels_ kind of guy, anyway.”

“Yeah.” Carver looks at him intently for a bit, almost as if he’s sussing him out, and then he stares at the floor to ask, “When did you know?”

Felix considers this. “I guess I always had an inkling. I wasn’t—I’m _still_ not very… you know. I don’t _need_ to have someone, all the time. I’m too shy to sleep around.” He hesitates. “I guess I started thinking about it more after…”

“Kissing practice?” Carver suggests, smiling a little. 

“Yeah. That.” He blushes thinking about it, especially in the context of this conversation, now, with his feet under Carver’s warm, muscular thigh and Carver’s arm propped comfortably on his knee. “You?”

“Same.” Carver taps this thumb absently against Felix’s kneecap, though he can scarcely feel it through the fabric of his jeans. “I don’t know why I never talked to you about it. I mean, of anyone, you would be it, right? You know everything else about me, why not this?”

“You don’t need to apologize…” Felix begins, but Carver shakes his head violently, cutting him off. 

“I kind of do. I do. Okay? I’m sorry that I—you’re my best friend, Fee, and I was kind of awful to you. Using you for… for trying to figure out my shit, and then getting scared and running to the first girl that gave me a second glance, and you were so _nice_ about it. You’re too nice, Fee. You could have clocked me in the face and I would have deserved it. I probably still do, actually.”

Felix stares. “You… want me to punch you in the face?”

“I don’t know if _want_ is the right word. Deserve, yeah. Totally. I wouldn’t be mad if you wanted to…” He mimes a punch, fist bobbing in midair, and Felix pushes himself up to sitting. His feet are still wedged in place, knees folded up to his chest, but at least now he’s on a level with Carver, close enough to grab the front of his stupid tank with its stupid too-big arm holes that bare Carver’s ribs and the little bit of underarm hair peeking out. Carver accepts it, clearly ready to be clocked, but Felix has another idea. 

“Listen to me, you great lug,” he says, fingers knotted in the fabric and his eyes focused on Carver’s baby blues. _Maker, he’s pretty. How is a giant football player pretty?_ “I’m not mad at you, all right? And I’m not going to punch you. You were young—we _both_ were. Young and stupid and scared. You did what anyone else would’ve done in your place.” 

Carver rubs his nose. “Then why are you pulling on my shirt?” 

“I’m not going to punch you,” he reiterates, “but I _do_ think I deserve some kind of recompense for your thickheadedness.”

“Agreed,” Carver says calmly. So calmly that Felix thinks he knows what’s going to happen before it happens, and is fine with it. Thus assured, he leans in over his upturned knees and pulls him close by his shirtfront for a kiss. 

His assumption is thrown out the window when Carver goes stiff all over and doesn’t so much as purse his lips in response. Felix lets go of him, cheeks burning, and sits back. “Um. Did I just do something really stupid?”

“I… was not expecting that,” Carver says faintly. Felix probably could have actually punched him and he wouldn’t have looked as surprised as this. He’s blushing, too, red all the way to the tips of his ears, but he licks his lips and says, bold as brass, “Want to try again? I promise I can do better than that.”

“What, not a little virgin fresher anymore?” Felix teases, relief bubbling warmly in his stomach as he leans in, finally freeing his toes and folding his legs underneath him.

“Not by half. Why? Disappointed?” Smirking, Carver kisses him quick and soft, lips molding together before withdrawing again. 

“I think I like you when you’re saucy. And that wasn’t a kiss, you arse, that was a _peck_.”

“So greedy,” Carver clucks, even though his arm is practically around Felix’s shoulders and the other hand is rubbing Felix’s thigh, firm and warm and safe. 

Felix gives in and wraps both arms around Carver’s neck, unable to keep himself from kissing the snarky grin off his face. This time it’s longer than just a little peck, though still slow, shallow, relearning each other’s mouths after three years of growing. Carver’s lips are firmer and more confident than Felix remembers, with an added fringe of stubble that he finds indescribably delicious. And when he sucks his lower lip into his mouth, tracing the silky-soft inside with his tongue, the groan that Carver makes is impossibly deep, nearly subterranean as it vibrates through Felix’s bones. 

This time when they part, it’s accompanied by the wet smack of saliva and a hum of appreciation. Felix honestly isn’t sure which one of them made it. “That,” he says lowly, eyes still shut, “is more like it.”

“Yeah.” Carver is looking at him when he opens his eyes, a bit of an anxious twist to his expression. It fades only a little when Felix pushes his fingers into his hair and massages his scalp. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

“Liar,” he whispers, thumb pressing lightly against the shell of his ear. 

“I just… this isn’t more _practice_ , is it?” He doesn’t look at all pleased by the prospect—in fact he looks downright dejected. Felix shakes his head and leans in to kiss the curve of his brow. 

“It’s the real thing, sweetheart. If you want it to be.”

Carver exhales in a great gust. “Oh good.” And then, before Felix can react, he hauls him bodily into his lap, knees to either side of his solid thighs. He pauses there with his hands on Felix’s hips, looking up at him through his lashes. “Er. Is this okay?”

Felix leans their foreheads together, smiling when their noses brush in a parody of a kiss. “Yeah. It’s okay.”

“Good.” With a little scribble of determination written on his brow, Carver leans up and finds his mouth. 

Felix plays coy for a minute or two, keeping his tongue to himself and his hands on Carver’s shoulders, but Carver is infinitely patient. Bit by bit he unravels Felix’s composure, rubbing his back and squeezing his thighs, nuzzling the side of his neck, sighing when Felix deigns to nibble on his lower lip. Felix can feel himself beginning to fray at the edges—his kisses are growing sloppy, slapdash and not quite centered, and getting wetter as Carver’s hands grow bolder. He hasn’t quite grabbed his arse, not yet, but it’s only a matter of time. 

In the end, it’s Felix who slips up first. He’s got his tongue pressing deep into Carver’s mouth and Carver’s hands splayed at the small of his back, and he just wants to be _closer_. His hips hitch forward, following the deep-seated ache in his pelvis, and the movement becomes a slow, unmistakable grind against the hard ridge in Carver’s shorts. 

Carver groans against his mouth, and their kisses turn hard-edged. Felix scrapes the nape of his neck with his fingernails and gasps to feel one broad hand palming his arse and squeezing. He should probably restrain himself, soften his mouth and ease back, but he doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to lose this—Carver feels too good, all heat and muscle and just as turned on as Felix is. He doesn’t know how they got to this point and he doesn’t really care. Years of daydreaming and aching and sometimes sniffling into his pillow at night when Carver’s asleep, and this is his reward. _Maker, he feels good._

“You feel amazing,” Carver gasps when they finally break apart, red-faced and breathless. He’s got both hands on Felix’s arse now, and when he twists and shifts his weight on the couch it presses his dick up into him through their clothes. He’s unmistakably hard, and so is Felix—when he looks down he can see the bulge in his jeans, feel the flush on his chest underneath his sweater. “Maker, we should have done this ages ago.”

Felix nods in breathless agreement, tugging at his sleeve. “Is it okay if I… I’m wearing a vest, I’m just so bloody hot…”

“Yeah you are,” Carver murmurs, already easing his hands up under his sweater. 

“Idiot,” Felix says fondly. He pulls his sweater over his head and tosses it on the other end of the couch where his head had been just five short minutes ago. Or maybe ten minutes. Time has sort of started to blur, and it’s all Carver’s fault. 

“You are, you know,” Carver says, serious this time. He runs his hands proprietarily up and down his torso over his ribbed tank, wrinkling the fabric and coaxing Felix’s body into an arcing curve that strains and trembles at the apex. When he slumps back down, he curls forward and kisses Carver’s wet, swollen mouth, unable to resist the naked desire in his midnight eyes. “Really fucking hot.”

“Why did you never say anything?” he asks between one kiss and the next. Carver’s lips are like a drug, wheedling him back again and again—even when he pulls away he can feel the tension in his chest like a fishing rod spooling him back in for another taste.

“I don’t know. Scared, I guess.” Carver braces his hands against Felix’s ribcage and tilts his head, letting him nuzzle in close to kiss his throat. “I thought I’d ruined everything already, freshman year. And I didn’t want to lose you, y’know? If things just got awkward and uncomfortable… it would have been awful.”

“Yeah. I know.” A little sobered by the confession, ringing so true in his overfilled breast, Felix rests his brow on Carver’s, playing with the frayed edges of his cutoff tank. Carver makes a little contented noise and seems to settle in like he’s ready for the long haul, arms familiar around his waist and his nose tucked up against his cheekbone, warm with every exhale. 

“Are you still…”

“Still what?”

“Going to want to live together? In Minrathous?”

Felix pulls back, petting some of his dark, shaggy hair away from his face so he can see his eyes more clearly. “I do. You’re still my best friend, Carv. You probably always will be—I _hope_ you always will be.” He gives a little shrug. “Yes, I’m attracted to you… um, a lot. Obviously. But I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

A flicker of a self-satisfied grin springs to Carver’s lips. “Yeah. Not a problem.” He gives his arse a squeeze as if to illustrate the point, and Felix jerks in his lap, sharply reminding both of them of the precarious state they’re both in. Carver’s eyes slant shut and he takes a deep breath. “So… about the kissing thing…”

“Five stars. Full marks. Flying colors. All of it.” Felix grins cheekily when Carver opens an eye to squint at him, and drops a kiss on his nose. “Seriously. You are… really, really good at that.”

“I had a good teacher.” Smiling, Carver pulls him close and kisses his shoulder. “I guess I was just wondering if maybe you wanted to… kiss a little more?”

Felix wants to smoosh his face. Instead he wraps his arms around his neck and buries his face in his hair, sighing happily. “You’re adorable. And hot. And yes, I want to _kiss a little more_. Please.”

“Mmm.” Carver’s bristles rub like sandpaper against his collarbone as he hums, rubbing his face back and forth like an enormous cat. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Felix tugs at his hair, urging his face up, and mouths softly at his lower lip. They’ve been kissing for long enough that his lips are tingling and a little bit sore, but he can’t bring himself to stop. Carver is too sweet, layering delicate little kisses on his lips in quick succession, one-two-three, and then dragging his tongue along the seam of his mouth until Felix opens and tongues back. His whole body quivers, shaken to the core, and he can’t resist rocking his hips a little, spurred by Carver’s fingers in his belt loops. 

“Feels good,” Carver mumbles, hands clutching spasmodically at his hips as if afraid of taking control. 

“Yeah.” Felix rests their foreheads together a moment, looking down between their bodies to watch as he grinds deliberately in Carver’s lap. His hips curve and gyrate slowly, like a sea of bodies in a club caught on tape and slowed to a near-hypnotic beat, and his blood pounds in his ears to watch the bulge in his jeans rub on Carver’s, barely visible in the dim light. “Mmmh…”

Carver takes a ragged breath and squeezes his hips, spurring him on. “God… _Maker_ , Fee, you are…”

Felix gives the nape of his neck one more stroke and drops his hands to rub proprietarily on Carver’s chest. The thin cotton of his tank ripples and moves with the pressure, and he gets one hand up under the hem, palm flat against his rock-hard core. “Take this off for me? Please?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course, anything you want.” 

“So obedient,” Felix laughs, but he’s not complaining as Carver rears back as best he can and pulls his shirt over his head in one easy movement. 

“For you? Always.” 

Another kiss is in order, which quickly devolves into open mouths and searching tongues and sloppy, roving hands. Felix strokes his newly bared skin, so smooth and inviting, and makes unashamed noises into Carver’s mouth when he feels him returning the favor. Bit by bit Carver works his hands up under his vest, petting the coarse hair on his chest and rubbing his nipples with patient fingers. Felix arches forward at this last and has to bite his lower lip to keep from crying out—it’s late, but they don’t exactly have the house to themselves, and he doesn’t want to bring anyone running. 

_What a sight that would be_ , he thinks, almost giggling at the thought of Alistair and Dorian and Trev bursting down here only to discover their best mates having a shag on the sofa. _Having a shag. Now there’s an idea._

“Hey,” Carver whispers, distracting him with an open-mouthed kiss to his chest. “What are you smiling about?”

“What’s _not_ to smile about?” he counters. He drags his vest over his head and drops it somewhere behind him, stretching his arms over his head after to loosen the stiffness in his back. Carver’s hands slide up his ribs and his hot, wet mouth suckles at a nipple, and Felix bites hastily into the back of his hand to keep quiet. “Mmmmm… Carver, _fuck_ …”

“Mmh. Gorgeous.” He leaves a little pink mark at the edge of his pectoral and nuzzles under his arm, grinning when Felix giggles and jerks away. 

“Stoppit! Don’t be gross.”

“It’s not gross. You smell amazing. You always smell amazing, how do you do it?” He follows up the question with another little hickey under his nipple, hungry hands rubbing down his back to dip under the waistband of his jeans. 

“I don’t spend half my life running after a ball, for one thing. And I have it under very good authority that the fencing locker rooms are a great deal cleaner than yours.” He gasps as Carver gives his arse a hearty squeeze, and he fumbles suddenly at his fly. “I want—is this…?”

“Yeah. Please.” Carver stills his hands and just watches, lashes turned to charcoal smudges against his flushed cheeks as Felix opens his jeans. Carver’s hands slide lower over his boxer briefs, digging in just a little, and Felix can’t help rubbing an open palm over himself. His pants are a little damp from precum and sweat, and the rich, musky smell of arousal rises suddenly to his nose as he massages himself through the fabric. 

“Fee,” Carver whispers, strained. “Can you…”

His hands are already there. With a little effort, he unbuttons Carver’s shorts and drags down the zip, hooking his fingers inside to rub his knuckles on Carver’s erection. Then he sits forward a little, and he can feel him, hard and hot through two pairs of briefs, and so bloody good he whimpers aloud. Carver swears softly and drops his head on the back of the couch. 

“Fee… I can’t…”

Felix goes still. “Can’t what, sweetheart?” 

His hands are still on his arse, and show no signs of moving. He licks his lips and he is _wrecked_ , hair askew and lips a dark, bruised red, face and chest flushed pink all the way down to the bulge in his pants. “I want you,” he whispers. “I want you so badly.”

Felix shudders at the answering clamor in his body. “I want you, too.”

“Maker.” He shuts his eyes. “I just—you need to know, if we keep going, I’m not… I don’t think I’ll be able to stop. I mean. I _will_ stop, if you ask, but…”

“Don’t. Please, don’t stop.” Felix cups his face in his hands, so in love he can barely speak. “You’re the sweetest, most darling man in Thedas. Thank you for asking, but please don’t stop.”

Carver peeks at him through heavy lids, almost as if he’s afraid to look. “Are you sure?”

“Immeasurably.” Though it’s nearly a physical pain to do it, Felix pushes himself off the couch and stands before him, trembling, willing his legs to cooperate. From this little distance, Carver is still beautiful. He’s still leaning back against the couch like all his bones have turned to mush, hands fisted on his sprawled thighs, prick curving up in his underwear from the open plackets of his shorts. And, incongruously, he’s still wearing socks. Felix bites back a smile and pushes his jeans and pants to the floor all at once. 

“Maker fuck,” Carver mutters, leaning forward like he can’t help himself. His fingertips graze Felix’s thighs as he kicks off his clothes and stands naked before him, and it feels natural to come in closer, to let the head of his cock skid across Carver’s plump, parted lips. Carver looks up at him through his lashes and curls his tongue out, slow and deliberate. Felix whimpers and feels a little bit of precum dribble out. 

“I’ve never,” Carver begins, and pauses, licking his lips and then lipping at the head of his cock again, curious. “I’ve never blown someone before, so I’m sorry if I get it wrong.”

“You won’t,” Felix breathes. “You couldn’t. Just… go slow. And don’t take too much at once—Carver!”

Coughing, Carver withdraws, red in the face with embarrassment more than arousal. “Sorry. I just wanted to…” He waves his hand in a meaningless gesture. “In porn they always go right to the root.”

“Then you’ve been watching the wrong porn.” Taking pity on him, Felix lays down on the couch and prods Carver with his feet until he’s kneeling on the floor, one of Felix’s legs draped over his arm and the other bent and braced against the cushions. “ _Slowly_ , sweetheart. Keep your mouth soft and wet, and just worry about the top bit.”

Smirking a little, Carver follows the coaxing guidance of Felix’s hand on his jaw, nuzzling the root of his cock before taking the head into his mouth. Felix watches him, anxious that he’ll overextend himself, but the view is spectacular. In the low light, Carver’s skin is a creamy shade of pale gold, like the milky turmeric tea you can buy at Minrathous cafes, underscored with soft rosy tones as he blushes and trembles and grows warm. His lips are berry-red and gleaming with saliva as he plays with the first few inches of his cock as if it were a sweet. He sucks and suckles and lets it pop in and out of his mouth, always chasing it with a little pink tongue-tip, eagerly following the scant directions Felix manages to get out. But he really doesn’t need much help. He’s eager and attentive and curious, and all together they more than make up for his lack of skill. 

He’s got his fist around the base and is dragging his tongue slow and flat along the underside when Felix loses it. Gasping, he grabs Carver by the fringe and pushes him away, clasping frantic fingers around the base of his prick to keep from coming. Baffled, Carver sits back on his heels and shakes off his hand. 

“What’s wrong? Have I messed up again?”

“No—no,” he gulps, reaching for him again. “Come here. Please. I want—”

Carver obeys without question, letting Felix manhandle him down to lay between his legs. He blurs kisses along the line of his neck and whispers, “What do you want?”

Felix smiles and cranes his neck up until Carver meets him in the middle for a quick smooch. “I want you to kiss me.”

Carver huffs and does so, longer this time, and the sound of their lips parting and coming together again is the loudest thing in the room. “Anything else?” he murmurs, rubbing his thighs with long, generous strokes of his palms. 

“Mm.” Felix rubs a fingertip across his lower lip as if considering the question. Carver’s eyes follow the movement like a cat’s, dark and intense, and his nostrils flare when Felix nibbles on the end. “Take off your clothes.”

Carver looks down at himself as if he’d forgotten he wasn’t naked. With brusque, self-conscious movements, he clambers out of his shorts and briefs—whitey-tighties, of _course_ —and settles back down on the couch, kneeling between Felix’s spread legs. His cock is nicely proportioned with the rest of him, which means it’s pretty fucking big; the foreskin is retracted to expose the red tip, slick and shiny with arousal. He doesn’t have very much body hair, and the stuff clustered around the base of his cock is wispy and straight like the hair on his chest and under his arms. When Felix reaches out and cups his bollocks, he blushes and looks away. 

“Okay?” Felix asks softly, letting the backs of his knuckles trail along the silky, humid skin of his inner thighs. 

“Yeah. Just… not where I was expecting tonight to go.” He worries his lower lip with his teeth and reaches down to fondle Felix’s wrist, directing him to where his prick juts up from his body. Felix smiles and wraps his fist around its girth, tugging gently. 

“But it’s good? It’s all right?”

“It’s very all right. Mmh. God.” He can’t seem to take his eyes off Felix’s hand on his cock. He rocks into it a little, bracing one hand on the open stretch of Felix’s thigh, exhaling roughly. “Can I…”

His other hand is between his legs. Felix takes a stuttering breath as his fingers brush the crease of his arse, tentative, and his stomach contracts with want. “There’s lube in the downstairs washroom,” he whispers, and nearly laughs to see the shock on Carver’s face. 

“There _is_?”

“For emergency purposes. Condoms, too—how do you not know this?”

“I—I’ve just never brought a girl home, I guess. For _that_ , I mean.” He stops, red as a lobster, as if realizing that talking about prior shags isn’t the best idea. “I’ll just go grab that, then.”

“Under the sink!” Felix calls after him, a quiet whisper-shout that he hopes won’t wake anyone. It probably won’t. After all, it’s… he leans off the couch and roots around in his jeans for his phone, squinting at the backlight for as long as it takes to turn the brightness down to practically nil. It’s 3:45 in the morning, sweet _Maker_ he’s going to hate himself tomorrow. And there’s a text from Dorian timestamped from an hour ago saying, _shag his brains out tonight or so help me I’ll do it for you._

Felix shakes his head, grinning as he texts back: _vice versa. we’ll try to be quiet. xoxoxo_

“Hey.” 

He looks up, startled, and blinks rapidly to try and shake off the dark spots dancing in his eyes. Carver is standing nervously beside the couch, still magnificently hard, a bottle of lube in one hand and a little foil packet in the other, which he’s rubbing repeatedly with his thumb as if it were a worry stone. Felix smiles and drops his phone onto the pile of his jeans. “Hey. C’mere.”

Carver does so, folding one leg underneath himself to sit between Felix’s thighs. Felix reaches out and takes the lube from him, coating his fingers. “Have you done this before?”

Carver shakes his head dumbly. He can’t seem to tear his eyes away from where Felix is rubbing lightly over his hole with his fingers. “I—no. I’ve never done anything with a bloke before tonight.” He glances up at him nervously. “Is that… that doesn’t put you off, does it?”

“‘Course not.” His encouraging smile falters as one finger breaches his body, sliding in smoothly with little resistance. He’d done this just this afternoon in the shower, taking advantage of a mostly-empty house while everyone went out to buy beer and snacks for the evening’s revelry. He had stayed behind to tidy up the living room, and rewarded himself afterward with a long, slow wank, two soapy fingers up inside himself and his other hand light and quick on the head of his cock. 

“Maker, you’re pretty,” Carver whispers, and he comes back to himself to Carver’s hands resting lightly on his thighs and two of his own fingers twisting up inside as deep as he can go. The angle is a little less awkward than it had been in the shower, but it’s still not completely satisfactory. 

“Here.” He squeezes lube onto Carver’s waiting fingers and directs his wrist with his clean hand. “One first. Your fingers are thicker than mine.”

At the first tickle of Carver’s forefinger behind his balls, Felix inhales and grabs onto the couch cushion behind his head. Carver gives him a querying look and Felix nods, urging him on. With his head tucked down to his chest, brow furrowed in concentration, Carver presses one finger in slowly, followed at Felix’s instruction by another. The fullness is exquisite. Felix has never been flexible enough to get three inside himself comfortably, and two of Carver’s fingers is thicker and longer than two of his own. Carver turn his wrist as he pulls out and pushes back in again, and heat pulses over him in a wave. 

“Maker— _fuck_. Can you—the condom, Carver, _please_ …”

“Are you sure two is enough?” Carver asks anxiously, still moving the pads of his fingers in maddening circles. Felix grabs for the condom packet, now wedged beneath one arse cheek, and tears it open, grabbing for his hip to draw him nearer. 

“Pretty bloody sure. It’s fine, my arse can take it. I have a toy that’s _almost_ as big as you are.” With a cheeky grin, Felix rolls the condom on and gives him a few strokes. “Just take it slow. If you can.”

“I can,” Carver says irritably, making Felix giggle. “Just… here.” He turns, grabbing the throw pillow from the other end of the couch, and with a little maneuvering he wedges it under the small of Felix’s back. “Is this okay? Comfortable?”

“Yeah. Now c’mere, big boy, and show me what you’ve got.”

Carver rolls his eyes but he scoots forward, cupping his arse in one hand and using his thumb to spread him open just a little wider. With his heart thudding in his chest, Felix watches him—the intent little furrow on his brow, the bloom of pink in his cheeks, his broad shoulders as he guides himself forward and presses the head of his cock carefully against his perineum. And then down, following the curvature of Felix’s body and the slickness of the lubricant, until he catches on his softened hole and eases a little way inside. 

“How’s that?” he asks, holding perfectly still except for a slight trembling in his thighs that Felix can feel through the couch. One broad, pale hand is pressing into his hipbone for stability, and Felix circles his wrist with a light touch, nudging against the frantic flutter of his pulse. 

“Good. A little more, please.”

The _please_ is like a magic word. Carver bites his lip and ducks his head, hips flexing forward. Felix hooks his free arm behind his knee and pulls toward himself for a better view. Carver’s belly is lovely from this angle, firm and gently defined where his muscles rest beneath a light layer of fat. He reaches out and pets him there, right below the navel, and Carver gives a little grunt and leans into it. 

Felix tightens his grip on Carver’s wrist suddenly, breathing deep. He can feel the tickle of pubic hair against his arse, and he feels _full_ , overtaken in the best way. Carver pauses, braced on one elbow above him, and finds the curve of his cheek with his lips. 

“Hey. All right?”

“Mmhmm.” He smiles and reaches up, loops his arms around his neck to pull him close. He’s still holding himself up, like he’s afraid of crushing Felix, but at this gesture he softens his body and eases just a little bit closer, pressing Felix’s cock between their bellies. “You can… nngh. Yeah, that,” he gasps, closing his eyes as Carver rocks forward and back, slow, as if testing the give of his body. 

“You feel… holy fuck.” Carver’s hand grips his thigh, hard, but Felix thinks he likes it. He tenses his internal muscles and grins when Carver cries out and stutters his hips. “Fee…”

“More. C’mon, baby, give it to me.”

Bit by bit, Carver’s spine curves forward until he can press his face against Felix’s neck, and there he stays, pelvis working in slow, careful strokes. It’s the most tender fuck Felix has ever had, and it’s a bit overwhelming. He decides he’s grateful for Carver’s face at his neck and his mouth at his throat, his hot breath right there on his collarbone and his soft, strained sounds of pleasure in his ear. He wraps his arms around Carver’s big, beautiful shoulders and mashes his face into his hair, belly tightening like a wind-up spring with every stroke. 

“ _More_ ,” he whispers when he has enough breath. “Please, _please_ fuck me—”

Carver really is very good at following instructions. He moves not faster, exactly, but with more purpose, one hand reaching down to scoop his hips up to meet each stroke. The pillow under his arse gives him enough leverage to comfortably wrap his legs around Carver’s waist, and the movement flows through his whole body, rutting him deeper into the couch and into Carver. 

He’s trying to be quiet, but he’s lost track of what _loud_ really means. He’s breathing hard like he does after a match, hot and prickly under his fencing whites, even though right now he’s naked and the window is still open and the room smells like mountain air and sex. In his own ears it sounds like a train grinding through a mountain tunnel, or the wind high in the evergreens that cluster thickly on the mountain slopes above campus, and beneath it is the slapping and sighing of their skin as Carver ruts and scrabbles and fights for better purchase on his sweat-slick skin. 

Carver’s face is still buried in his neck, so he can hear it when Carver starts to find the edges of his orgasm. His rough panting turns harsher and higher-pitched, almost like sobs, and when he pushes his mouth into the pillow behind him it only makes him sound more desperate. Felix tugs on his shoulders until he unearths him, and cups his stubbled face in his hands so he can kiss him. It’s hardly a proper kiss, too messy and open-mouthed, but he needs to see Carver’s face: the wrinkle in his brow, the rumpled bird’s-nest of his hair, how his blushes grows fierce and mottled with strain. 

Felix tugs on his cock once or twice before Carver notices and bats his hand out of the way to do it himself. His arms is trembling by now with the exertion of keeping himself propped up for so long, but it doesn’t matter—the end is coming nearer. Felix whispers encouragement against his lips as his body tightens, waves building up offshore into a tremendous rush against the sand.

“Maker,” Carver gasps suddenly, the first word he’s spoken in long minutes. “Fee, are you—”

“Yeah. Yeah, fuck, _oh…_ ” 

Carver squeezes a little bit tighter on the upstroke, twisting around the head, and somehow hits him just right on the next inward thrust. Felix arches his back, toes curling and the meat of his thumb shoved between his teeth to keep from screaming. A second or two of utter stillness—and then he feels the hot, wet spatter of semen on his belly, hears Carver’s reckless swearing, and he has just enough energy to grin with satisfaction as Carver grabs him by the hips and grinds into him as deeply as he can.

Then all he can hear is breathing. Harsh, quick gulps, and then soft panting, and then quiet, with the soft ruffle of Carver’s hair fluttering every time Felix exhales. 

Carver moves first, ever chivalrous. In spite of Felix groaning and pouting in protest, he pulls out and kisses his belly and wipes him clean with his own briefs, which Felix appreciates. Then he disappears for a moment or two, and when he returns, clean and mostly soft, he’s gotten a blanket out of the linen closet downstairs, a fluffy soft one. Felix tugs him back down and he comes, tacky with sweat, spreading the blanket over them clumsily as he burrows down against him. 

“We could move upstairs,” Felix suggests softly after a little while, combing his fingers through Carver’s hair. The orgasm has finally done what time could not, and he feels sleepy—sleepy enough to fall asleep here, but he doesn’t want the others coming down in the morning to find them like this. Nor does he want to awaken with a crick in his neck that makes sitting on stage for the graduation ceremony unbearable. 

“Mmf. We could.” Carver is smiling—he can tell by the slight roundness in his cheek when he rests his palm against it. Then he pushes himself up on his elbow and frowns down at him. “Is it—fuck, I’m sorry this was on a bloody _couch_ , we could have gone to our room and it would have been more comfortable—”

“Carver. Shh.” He puts his finger against Carver’s lips, quieting him, and then gets distracted tracing their deliciously plump shape. “It’s fine. It was kind of perfect, actually. The perfect way to ring out four brilliant years.”

Carver’s worry softens. “Oh. Okay. Good.” 

“Good.” Felix leans up and smudges a kiss against his lips before flopping back down, rubbing Carver’s shoulders. “Carry me upstairs?”

“Sure.” 

If Carver flexes a little bit as he bundles Felix in the blanket and hauls him into his arms, Felix doesn’t mind. He smiles and tucks his face in his bare chest. “What about our clothes?”

“Oh. Ummm.” Carver chews his lip a moment and then shoved them under the couch with his foot. “We can get them tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Snickering, Felix lets himself be borne upstairs. The stairs creak under their combined weight, and someone has left a light on for them—the bathroom light at the end of the hall. It’s enough to see by as Felix finds their doorknob and Carver eases them into the room they’ve shared for the past two years, the biggest room in the frat house with a pretty picture window overlooking the craggy mountains that loom over the college. 

Carver deposits him gently on his bed, since it’s bigger. It’s also messier, unmade, and when Felix unwinds the blanket and burrows into the crumpled bedding, he finds a discarded shirt and one lonely sock hiding inside. He throws them at Carver’s head and giggles when he ducks away, embarrassed. 

“Hey, you’ve lived with me. You know I’m not naturally clean like you.”

“I’m not _naturally clean_ ,” Felix echoes, rolling his eyes. He opens his arms as Carver clambers into bed, and hums appreciatively at his warmth and sturdiness. “I have cultivated a habit of being tidy. And I can train you too, if I work at it.”

“Train away,” Carver says airily. His words are punctuated by a yawn, and then Felix can’t help but do the same. “Tomorrow. Later. I want to sleep now.”

Felix shakes his head fondly. “As do I.” 

If nothing else, Carver has a plethora of pillows. And, mixed in with the rest of his blankets, a fake fur throw that Felix wraps around himself like a cloak, relishing the silky fibers against his skin. “Goodnight, Carv.”

There’s no answer, but a moment later an arm snakes around his waist and squeezes. Felix smiles, and is asleep in an instant. 

///

_Bang bang bang._ Carver is pounding nails into a board. Felix watches him, and doesn’t know why he’s so fascinated. _Bang bang bang._ It’s just nails and a hammer. They aren’t even hammering the board into anything. It’s just—

_Bang bang bang bang._

“Rise and shine, boys! Baccalaureate’s in forty minutes! Hope you’re decent!”

Felix comes awake just in time for the door to smash open, admitting Sera and Dorian already wearing their graduation day suits. He thrashes for a moment and then subsides, swathed in blankets and half-pinned by Carver’s slumbering bulk. He smiles at them weakly.

“We’re up. Awake, I mean. We’re awake.”

“Andraste’s flaming pyre, Fee, you _weren’t_ lying.” Dorian stares unashamedly, likely admiring Carver’s bare legs where they’re sticking out of the bedding. Sera just makes a face and hauls at his arm. 

“ _Ew_. C’mon, Dorian, I don’t want to see them actually getting out of bed.”

“I do,” Dorian smirks, but he lets himself be dragged out regardless. 

The slam of the door, of all things, is what wakes Carver. He grunts and tightens his arm where it’s still looped around Felix’s waist, nuzzling into the back of his neck. “What was that?” he mumbles, all morning breath and scratchy stubble and sweaty, sleepy man. Felix has never been happier. 

“Don’t worry about it. Come on, we need to shower and brush our teeth.” He frees one arm and scritches his nails through the hair at the base of his neck. “I’ll join you if you get up.”

“Mmmm. Kay.” He loosens his arm, smiling beatifically at Felix from his pillow. “Love you.”

Felix stares. A few moments later he finds his breath again, and his voice, and he tugs on Carver’s hair with purpose as he says, shakily, “You can’t just… _do_ that.”

“Mmh. Do what?” He stretches, arms over his head and his muscles stupidly defined, and Felix isn’t sure whether to hit him or kiss him. So he settles for kissing him. Sitting up, straddling his waist, hands in his hair and tongue in his mouth who gives a _fuck_ about morning breath kind of kissing him. When he pulls away, Carver’s eyes are huge and his lips are red, and when Felix sits back he can feel his dick poking into his arse cheek. “Um.”

“We’re going to be late,” Felix whispers, patting his cheek. “And I love you, too. For some reason.”

“Is it because I’m cute?” 

“Ugh. Yes, definitely. Disgusting man.” And then he kisses him again, just for good measure. 


End file.
